Worlds Colliding
by Californascent
Summary: These are my thoughts on what happened after Season 3, Episode 8. I'm American so excuse any cultural gaffes. I've been struggling with the idea of just how Jack would go after Phryne...
1. Chapter 1

Hi! I never heard of fanfiction until I watched this show. I am not generally a big TV watcher, but I am now obsessed with all things Miss Fisher (particularly the things that involve Jack Robinson).

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Lord Henry George Fisher, Baron of Richmond, sank into a deep leather chair in the Victoria Hotel and closed his eyes, happy to finally be earthbound after four days of air travel. He was not at all looking forward to leaving Darwin for the long transatlantic flight to England. Phryne assured him that a fellow just completed the whole trip safely in 11 days, but, as he took a sip from his glass, the Baron thought it was going to take a whole lot of whiskey to convince him that the rag-tag aeroplane was not going to fall from the sky.

"Henry!" said a familiar voice. "There you are!"

Henry Fisher sat up, straightened his cravat, and looked at the tall, distinguished gentlemen standing before him. Roddington Forrester, fellow peer and Member of Parliament. He blinked twice, trying to figure out how they both happened to be in a hotel on the remote tip of northern Australia.

"Roddy, old chap!" Henry said with a warm smile, rising to shake hands. "You are a long way off. Is this a coincidence?" They were from different backgrounds and different ends of the earth, but life had thrown them together in a number of ways over the years, and Roddy had been an invaluable steward though Henry's early days in the House of Lords. He also had a tendency to graciously lose at cards.

"I should say not," Roddy responded, signaling the barman for a second glass. "I've had a devil of a time tracking you over Australia this past week." Roddy nodded at the leather club chair opposite the Baron, and Henry gestured for him to sit down.

"I am in the Antipodes on official business, trade and whatnot. A few days ago, I received some cables from London. They have a situation over here with one of your lot. An Australian bloke found dead at Australia House. New Scotland Yard is keen to look in, but the Australian High Commission insists on bringing over one of their own." Roddy turned and sipped the whiskey that had just been discreetly put down next to him.

"One of their own?" Henry picked up his glass. "I'm not sure how I can be of help, Roddy. We are weeks from London. It would take months for anyone to get there."

"I think people are moving around quicker in these flying boats nowadays, Henry. I daresay that soon, months on ocean liners will be a thing of the past. In any event, Special Intelligence Services intervened, and believe it or not, SIS is less concerned about acting quickly than they are about having the right man." Roddy leaned forward, almost whispering at the Baron. "Apparently, the deceased is a suspected Bolshevik and spy for the German left. All kinds of questions," Roddy said, raising his eyebrows, "have been raised." He added, "Not that you heard that from me."

Henry swirled the remaining whiskey, staring at the bottom of the glass, still more concerned with savoring some precious time on solid ground before resuming his flight with Pharynx.

"Your service towards the end of the war, though unofficial, was certainly noticed by Sir George Mansfield-Cumming." Roddy pulled a folded onionskin telegram from his pocket and continued, reading the message. "And the fellow at issue has a birth certificate that says he was from Melbourne, Victoria. A place called Collingwood. Cumming asked for your recommendation specifically."

"So they want to send an Australian detective to London to investigate." The Baron thought on it for a moment as the two sat silent in the hotel lobby, the whirring and clack of the ceiling fans blowing around the early-season heat.

"Precisely," Roddy said. "And the Home Office is allowing the Australian High Commission to flex a bit of sovereignty here. The deceased was found, after all on Australian sovereign territory."

Henry jolted his head up with an idea. For once in his life, Henry Fisher was going to do the right thing for his daughter.

"Roddy, I think I may know just the man for the job."

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For the past four days, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had been reflecting on just how he would "come after" Phryne Fisher. Certainly he had leave due. Certainly he lived frugally enough that he could pay for steamship passage. But looking down at the timetable for steamships from Melbourne to London, Jack realized that it would be at least another month before he could book passage to London. And perhaps another two months to London from then. It would be after Christmas before he could get there.

His thoughts drifted to Phryne, to her smile at him, to that kiss, to her body pressed against him and to his arm around her, and then, to her lips parted and eyes closed as they pulled away, to be replaced with a gleam in her eye. He closed his eyes for a moment and he could see her sauntering down the airfield, glancing back at him with a joyous look on her face. How could he not go after her?

That same thought had filled his head for these last four days. Jack knew that it took a lot for Phryne to make her "romantic overture," as she called it. And as he thought back, it occurred to him that maybe he had been misreading Phryne for some time. For weeks after the case with her adventurer's club, he had replayed her saying "I am who I am Jack, I can't give that up" over and over again, convinced that Phryne was telling him that she would never be able to commit to one man. Least of all to him. But now, as he thought about the times they shared after that, he recalled her singing in her parlour about her heart being true. He remembered his drunken rant in Miss Fisher's parlour months later and his declaration about not being "liberal minded" enough for her, and her quizzical response "What other men?" Jack realized that it was possible that he had misread her meaning. Is it possible that Phryne wasn't talking about giving up other men, but about feeling compelled to give up the thrill of adventure that she loved so dear.

The sharp ring of the City South telephone startled Jack from his thoughts. Seeing no one else in the station, he picked up the phone.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson speaking. Yes, Commissioner, we did just close the case." Jack cradled the phone in one ear as he felt around for the file on his latest investigation, certain the Commissioner was calling for details. "Yes, we got our man. Constable Martin is finishing up the paperwork now."

Jack then straightened up. "London? Immediately? But…I see. Australia House?" He switched the phone to his other hand, picked up a pencil and began taking notes.

"But won't that take a long time to get there?" Jack asked, already familiar with the most recently published time tables. "Yes, I see. Arrangements are already in order." Jack repeated nodding. "Yes, I can be ready tomorrow. No I've never flown in an aeroplane." Jack swallowed, and he could feel a brief sweat break out on his brow. He listened on for a minute as the Commissioner spoke about what a loss it would be to have Jack away for a few months, but that duty to the crown was paramount.

"Yes, sir," Jack said, still listening to the Commissioner continue. "No, sir, I am perfectly happy to fly halfway around the world with one of RAAF's finest. Who is my point of contact?"

The telephone receiver almost slid out of Jack's hands as he heard the Commission say, "Captain Lyle Compton."

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Also, some research into the history of Australian aviation revealed that the last stop in Australia for many early routes bound for London was Darwin, on the north coast. Also, it seems, the trans-ocean trip back to London was made by a few in the 1920s… . /about-australia/australian-story/early-austn-aviation, so maybe Phryne will make it all the way there! In early 1930, at least on aviator did it in 9 days, so I am guessing that as of the fall of 1929, someone must have done it in 11.

Please let me know what you think! Also, note three things: (1) – this has not been beta'ed (I'm not sure how you find someone to do that); (2) I am a bit tech challenged; and (3) I'm a slow writer. :)


	2. Liftoff

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who looked at this and left a review. I so appreciate it, and it really is motivating! I fear the pacing here is a little slow (thanks to my inexperience as a writer), but I am hoping to pick it up in the next chapter.

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"G-Group Captain Lyle Compton?" Jack croaked, his initial elation at the thought of going after Phryne flagging.

"That's the one. RAAF command tells me he's the best they got. An overnight ace in the war."

Right. Of course he was. Jack ran his index finger over his brow and grimaced at the thought of two weeks in a plane with Captain Courageous.

Jack had barely regained his composure when the Commissioner continued, "And when he heard that the Home Office sent for you, he volunteered."

"He volunteered." It was more a statement than a question. Then the realization of what the Commission had said hit him. "Did you say the Home Office 'sent for me'?"

"They did, but this a dangerous assignment and an unfair request. If you don't want to go, you don't have to. We can find some excuse for the Home Office."

Jack stood still for a moment. Not go? "No, Sir. I am glad to be of service."

"Well then, Compton can fill you in. I think you two will have a lot in common." Jack winced. Oh, he knew about Compton's background in intelligence all right. "I'm told he was in intelligence, and I reviewed your war record. Very interesting."

"Yes, sir," Jack said, not wanting to further the discussion. "Point Cook at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. I will be there." He slid the telephone back on the receiver and spread his arms out to lean against the City South counter and bowed his head down, thinking about the flight with Compton. What had Phryne said about two men and one woman?

Jack straightened up and started organizing some files. He had a lot to do before eight a.m.

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Phryne sank in a hot bath at the Hotel Victoria, aching from sitting in the cramped cockpit for the past four days. She had not yet cabled Jack. She just didn't know what to say. Saying "come after me" seemed a fine idea at the time, but she knew that the next boat to London did not leave for another month or so. And how could he manage the particulars with work and everything else. Phryne tilted her head down to her chin and rolled from side to side, stretching out her neck, her limbs heavy and exhausted. Perhaps there really was just too much ballast for lift-off?

She also had her father and mother to worry about. No matter what else, her parents being together had been a constant in Phryne's life. While this whole mess was her father's fault, it was her mother's heart at stake.

And her own heart? Phryne ran her fingers up the length of a soapy thigh and dipped them below. That kiss. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and sighed. Oh, the feel of his hand pulling her into him, and the heat of his body pressed into her. The first time they kissed had been unexpected, a shock really. And, she certainly did not expect to melt in Jack's arms. She recalled the look they shared as they broke apart that day in the café, and how she replayed that moment over and over again, hoping he would approach her again. But he didn't. And, if she had not brought it up to him in Madam Lavender's office, they never would have mentioned it all.

Later, she used all of her charms to entice him to one gaudy night, to no avail. She flirted with him, sparred with him, challenged him, and teased him, and he remained her ever steady, ever supportive, Jack. After Jack announced that he was ready to cut her from his life, she realized that she did not want one gaudy night. She wanted him by her side every day. Doing what they do best together.

The second time she thought he would kiss her was the night Sidney Fletcher was arrested. She tried to tell him that it wasn't too late – not too late for him to come to her – no matter where he'd been – and not too late for them. That it would never be too late for them. And, after Aunt P burst in, they parted as friends. But Phryne knew there was more, and she knew she definitely wanted more.

She had been anticipating him to kiss her again for months, and the anticipation had built so much, despite every knowing look, every soft caress, and every slight touch between them, she did not think it would truly happen. But, then he came after her, showing he was bold, and true, and passionate. Phryne opened her eyes, realizing that she was completely aroused by just thinking about Jack Robinson.

In that moment, Phryne knew exactly what to do. She stepped out of the tub and dried off. Her more sensual thoughts about Jack would have to wait, she thought, she picked up the phone and asked for the front desk. "Yes," said Phryne. "I do need some assistance. I need to send a telegram."

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Jack arrived at the RAAF airfield at Point Cook at 7:30 the following morning. Everything at the station had been resolved and everything at home had been attended to, but he had not slept at all. He leaned against the outside of the RAAF hangar, relishing a few last moments alone on solid ground.

Could Phryne be responsible for this? No, he thought. He didn't see how. The Commissioner had said that the call came directly from the Home Office. Need to know basis only. She could be no further away than northern Australia by now, at best. Not even Phryne was so resourceful and unpredictable to arrange for him to be summonsed to London on a plane piloted by Lyle Compton.

And she had not contacted him at all, making him wonder, when she said: "Come after me, Jack Robinson," did she mean it?

"Inspector." Jack looked up to see a fresh faced Group Captain Lyle Compton extending a hand towards him. "I said, are you quite ready to fly this morning?"

Jack took Compton's hand. "Yes, Captain. Just point the way."

Compton turned and walked into the hangar, stopping short of a plane a good deal larger than the one Phryne had taken off in the other day. Jack picked up his bag and followed. Compton ran his hand over the smooth steel of the plane and turned to Jack. "She's American. The finest yet made." Compton turned to Jack, "It has a closed cockpit and it pressurized, meaning we can fly higher and go faster than anyone else has done before."

Jack gathered that Compton was doing his best to make Jack feel better about the flight, but his words had the opposite effect. It was suddenly extremely hot in the hangar, and Jack was glad to follow Compton outside as the air mechanics towed the plane out behind them for their final checks.

Compton walked slowly back around the plane. "Well, Inspector, this is it. Last change to bow out."

"All ready, Captain," Jack said. Was she worth it? Yes, she was most definitely worth it he thought, stepping up the small ladder into the plane. It seemed more spacious than he expected, with a comfortable bench along one side of the plane, and his bag and provisions stacked in the back. "We seem to have a lot of provisions," Jack gestured to the bags in the back of the plane as Compton took the pilot seat.

"Only some of that is for us, Inspector." The rest is mail and other deliveries for London. "Speaking of which, I have a few things for you. These arrived by special messenger at the airfield this morning. From the police station. You might as well make yourself comfortable, Inspector. We will be about 10 hours this first leg. I want to take advantage of the good weather when we have it."

Jack took the packet of letters, and put them into the pocket of his overcoat, as Compton readied for take-off. It was petty, Jack knew, but he bristled slightly at Compton's apparent complete command of the cockpit and his effortless self assurance. How could he really compete with that? In moments, though, they were taxing down the runway and in flight. Despite his reservations, it was exhilarating to see the world in such a different way, with eyes turned skyward, he thought.

After a while, Jack settled in and took the packet of letters from his coat pocket. One was a letter of introduction to the Australian High Commissioner in London, and another was to a gentleman named "C" with instructions to contact him as soon as they arrive. The third one contained a telegram envelope with a brief note from Constable Martin: "This came for you after you left the station last night." Jack tore open the telegram. It could only be from one person.

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR J. ROBINSON  
CITY SOUTH POLICE STATION  
MELBOURNE, VICTORIA, AU

ALL WELL. WEATHER FINE. MAKING GOOD PROGRESS. HOPE TO ARRIVE LONDON EARLY. DON'T COME AFTER ME. PLAN TO DROP FATHER IN LONDON AND COME STRAIGHT BACK TO YOU.

P


End file.
